Lavender Grimdark
by ArduousEternity
Summary: She wanted control. She got it. But not in the way she wanted.  Act 5


Lavender Grimdark

She was going to die.

This fact was inevitable for all, but most did not control when their own demise would occur. She was going to be in control. At least, that was what she told herself, as a comfort mechanism. How else could she keep herself calm when she knew that her mission was almost certain to be suicide?

She needed to stop thinking about her mission, just for a second. She was driving herself absolutely mad. There would be no hope remaining in the mission if she could not keep a clear head about it.

And the only way to clear her head at the moment was to think back on other events that helped to formulate the chain that led her to becoming a would-be martyr.

From what she could remember, it was April currently. She wasn't entirely sure, for time seemed lost in the world she had entered. She just wanted to partake in a small bit of tomfoolery with her companions on John's birthday. She didn't want things to turn so grim.

She wanted to be in control.

Maybe it was years of attempting to analyze every minute detail on damn near everything she could even gaze upon, or it was just the never-ending isolation, but she had never had the feeling of being in control of her own life, her own decisions. Before, she had merely come to the conclusion that at thirteen, there was no such concept as true control. Now, she knew she could have control, if she would just surrender a small bit of herself.

She felt herself mentally jerk back. The thought of surrender brought her back to her objective, and she didn't feel quite yet ready to mentally confront that issue.

What else was there to consider? She was concerned with the well-being of her companions, but she knew they were fine. There was never any doubt in her mind that they wouldn't be. She also once was concerned with the well-being of her mother, even though she never would have admitted it. But, that concern couldn't linger any longer after news of her death.

Another mental jerk. Why did everything lead back to her mission? Even lamenting death managed to bring her back to the subject. But not yet. She couldn't just yet.

She suddenly didn't wish to think or dwell upon anything. Her eyes gazed around the area she had learned the layout of, grown used to. A land of light and rain. The place where the game had sent her. It was beautiful, yes, but as long as she stayed in the colorful land, she was playing by the rules the game had set for her to follow.

She had grown tired of the rules. She would not let the game jerk her around as it pleased. She would break the chains dubbed "rules" and play by her own.

Control. A measure of absolute power. What all her objectives spiraled and twisted around. She was not a fool. She knew that to win, or get as close to winning as she could achieve, she would have to be the one with the power. She would have to pull some, if not all of the strings.

And to gain control, she would have to sacrifice. Sacrifice her sanity, most definitely, and quite likely, even her life. The mission was on. The mission was vengeance.

She had been flying towards Skaia the whole time she had been thinking. Her body was in control, not her mind. Had she been truly herself, she would have been disgusted at the notion that her mind was inferior to her physical being.

But there was little semblance of herself. She was Grimdark. The feeling of it was cold, but yet burning upon her skin. The colors surrounding her grew gradually more muted as time passed onward. As time passed onward, her thoughts also became less of her own. There was a scream in the back of her mind that grew louder and louder the more powerful her abilities stretched.

The scream said, "Stop".

The scream grew progressively more desperate, pleading as she approached the battlefield.

She didn't care anymore. Even though death seemed almost certain if she attempted to take revenge, she just couldn't bring herself to care.

She wasn't the same thirteen-year-old girl she had been not so very long ago.

She was the image of her own shadow.

Her feet touched the battlefield. Her bloodlust surged, becoming all-consuming.

She was the image of her own lack of control, at that very moment. The light was lost to her. She could not, and would not see it any longer.


End file.
